The Soldier
I "The Soldier had grown weary of the war. After the King had released him from service he'd sought out the comfort and anonymity of the city. In his travels he'd seen many wonders; from the floating castles of Excelsior, most had fallen now, to the fiery volcanic slopes of Gehenna. But none were so fantastic as the wonders he beheld for the two weeks his regiment billeted in the city of Sigil. The Soldier wondered why the strange plant that climbed up the side of the spires that tipped the curved tenements of the neighborhood called "the Brushstroke"" had spines and edges that could pierce and slice flesh as well as any blade or rapier. The creeping vines of the stuff grew across walls, an advancing army laying siege to the spire. Was the stuff carnivorous? Did it feast on the splattered drops of blood it stole from unwary pigeons landing? Did the rats scurrying beneath its vines offer up their lacerations as sacrifice for cover? The Soldier chided himself the fool for his reverie, he'd gotten himself lost again. Now he found himself in an alley between two of the district's theaters. The Soldier was fond of the plays he'd seen. Especially the ones about kings enraged by jealousy or made mad with thoughts of revenge, such plays reminded the soldier of his general. On the battlefield "Mad" Jack would stand like the actors in some ancient tragedy. The wild-eyed general seemed impervious to the fire and shot that decimated the men about him, an unflinching king gazing upon his dominion of war... Damn, the soldier thought, Drifted away again. Focus! The visions of the war had been incessant lately, haunting the Soldier, waking dreams that would leave him staring vacantly off into that terrible war. The alley lead to a winding street. A signpost nailed to the building was scrawled with the common letters that read simply, "Quill". In a few moments the Soldier stood before a ramshackle hut with nails of a hundred different sizes holding it together. The number from the paper matched, so this must be the place. With little to lose, the soldier clapped in customary fashion. When no one answered he crudely slammed his fist on the slats of wood he took to be the door. After a bit, sounds could be heard from inside the shack. For a moment the soldier worried the structure would collapse, then a tiny voice called out from within, ""Hold on!"" the voice seemed quite far away. ""Just a moment!"" The Soldier swore he heard the distinct sound of footfalls upon marble followed by mumbling of some kind. But when the door creaked open, it revealed a squalor and mess lorded over by a wrinkled little man with pointed ears, a diabolic smile, and the brightest blue cape the Soldier had ever seen. There was something familiar in the eyes... ""Hello!"" the little man shoved his hand forward, ""I'm Styx, yes just like the river, come on in, can I offer you something to drink? A bit of water, tea? I might have some bread about..." The Soldier stared at the creature, surprised by his remarkable charm, a lyric voice that drew the ears in and eased the mind. "Not much of a talker?" The little man said, "that's alright, you must be here for the work?” The tilt of the creature's head reminded the Soldier of the dogs his regiment took into battle with them when they were perplexed. The Soldier simply nodded. "Perfect! Have a seat," Styx gestured to a three-legged stool battered and beaten by the ravages of time, "those chevrons on your armor tell me you're a veteran, is that so?" The Soldier's voice came up from the graveled pit within him, "'Mad Jack's’’ Regiment," surprised by the underlying pride in his own voice the Soldier barely noticed Styx's eyes lit up. "Ah, ideal, yes...ideal." Styx's eyes shifted back and forth, and then he leaned forward and began to whisper, "So you've seen ‘godfall’?" The question hung in the air, quiet settled inside the tiny hovel. 'Godfall,' the manifestation of a deity in corporeal form. The Soldier was in the trench his sword drenched in Synnian blood, the field of no-man's-land stacked high with the bodies of his friends and enemies, the fiery skies of Gehenna scorched red with volcanic fire. Then the fabric of reality tore open. An audible 'pop', and suddenly the terror only a god can bring, from a realm of clanging steel Ares stepped onto the field. His visage a mask of utter battle lust, a towering warrior clad in armor casting a shadow as only mountains do. The men in the trenches beside the Soldier became struck mad, screaming, clutching their helms and curling in upon themselves, their minds snapping, unable to cope with the impossibility their eyes reported. His voice flat and soft, the soldier stated simply "Yes I've seen godfall." II With a long drawn out sigh the little man in the blue cape sat upon a stack of scavenged wood. "For thirty gold up-front and three hundred more, if you make it back, could you look into something for me?" The Soldier thought about his complaining stomach. "What?" He asked, though he'd already agreed in his head. Styx reached into a tattered waist coat and pulled out a pair of spectacles which he set upon the ridge of his nose. "So here's the thing," and again he whispered, "the war has wreaked chaos on the planes, that much is clear. But what is still relatively quiet is that the gods in all their wrestling about knocked over a particularly important bead of Carceri, the red prison. “But," and here the little man's nose crinkled up, "here's the thing," "What's the thing?" Impatience had creeped into the soldier’s tone. "That's where Zeus kept the Titans." Neither spoke for a little while. When the Soldier did it was as if he'd had the wind knocked out of him. "So you want me to travel to Carceri and see if the Titans have escaped?" “No, not just escaped, you've got to lay eyes on one." Styx looked hard at the Soldier then, as if to look into him and see the strength of the man, "You have to find a Titan and get word back to me, can you do it?" In response the Soldier's stomach let out a loud grumble, slightly embarrassed, the Soldier said, "Give me a way in and out of Carceri and I'll do it." III The Soldier hunkered down in the trash and flotsum of the city's Hive district, around him the dejected and depraved of a hundred different worlds. The Soldier had followed Styx's directions into the poorest part of the city. He was just past an abandoned smokehouse taken over by mephits, small impish creatures from the elemental planes. Styx had assured the soldier that a bit of fleece dipped in lamp oil and set afire would open the door to Carceri. With little fanfare the Soldier pulled out his tinder box and set the fleece on fire, being careful he grabbed the unlit end and strode towards the door. Suddenly a blur of motion shot out from the hovel trailing smoke behind it. The Soldier's sword was out of its scabbard before he even thought to draw it. There before him flew a small thing with bat like wings and an enormous nose. The mephit was gray and exuded an aura of smoke. It giggled at the Soldier. "You're going to burn your fingers." it teased. The Soldier cursed as the fleece did just that. He threw the burning bit of fleece at the door behind the mephit, hoping to activate the portal. There was then a flash as the arch shimmered to life with ripples of bright light. As soon as the Mephit saw the portal he let out an angry squeal, then the soldier was engulfed in smoke. Coughing and sputtering the soldier leapt for where the portal had been. There was a crash and the soldier's nose exploded in pain and blood, he'd run into the door's frame. Cursing the smoke mephit, and all his kind, the Soldier crawled through the smoke and blood and pain. IV The other side of the one-way portal dropped the soldier in a bath of muck and grime. At first he thought he'd drown for certain, then he found his feet. Around him he found a swamp as dark and evil as he could imagine. In the infinite sky massive beads coiled into forever cracked and burning staining the sky red. The Soldier slogged through the swamp till he found a bit of earth peeking out of the muck, a twisted dead willow tree hung over the tiny island. The Soldier peeled off his wet cloak and removed his boots and socks though he dare not take off his armor for fear of attack. Collecting some of the willow's dead wood the Soldier started a tiny fire to dry his socks. Once the fire was lit he reached into his belt pouch and pulled a bit of line and attached a hook. Grabbing one of the enormous mosquitoes trying to feast on him, the Soldier baited the hook. "I don't know what foul creature swims in your waters, swamp, but I'm going to kill it and eat it." With that he tied his line to a stick and cast out. Hours drifted by and the prison plane of Carceri failed to kill the Soldier outright. The Soldier remembered something "Mad" Jack had told his troops as they crashed through a gate to take the enemy on the banks of the River Styx in the Gray Waste of Hades, “If a plane fails to kill you in the first moments of your arrival, that means it likes you, and wants you to stay. Use that." So the Soldier fished the swamp of Carceri. When the line tugged there was a struggle. Soon the Soldier pulled a mottled milky-eyed fish with nails for teeth. It took a while to kill the thing but eventually the Soldier had the beast on a spit and cooking. The smell of the fish was foul, but the Soldier knew it wouldn't poison him. What he didn't know was that the smell had traveled. Three of Carceri's prisoners snuck up on the soldier; the creatures swam through the waters nearby. Their huge frames submerged to their neck. Warted green skinned and hook-nosed the famished creatures burst through the swamp water howling, charging the Soldier's makeshift camp. The Soldier, caught by surprise, was cut deep by the attacking trolls' viscous claws before he could brandish his sword. Having faced trolls in the war, the Soldier knew they were vulnerable to fire, but the trolls were canny, and had cut him off from the flames, his boots, and his meal. The three trolls towered over the soldier now, leering hungrily at him. Their stench was unbearable, half again as tall as the Soldier they were terrifying opponents. There were tense moments of quiet after the initial attack, the Soldier's blood streamed down from his wounds. The pain shot up from his cuts and the Soldier waited for the trolls to rush. Their hunger for flesh overcame their caution then, and they charged the lone swordsman. Fury burst forth from within the Soldier then and he spun with the first troll's slash, rolling along the beast's extended arm. At the terminus of his spin his arm carried the blade through and the initial troll's head hung in the air still blinking for a moment before landing in the muck with a sickening splat. The soldier knew he had little time before the creature would rise up again, troll regeneration brought the disgusting beasts back from even a death blow. As the first troll's head rolled into the swamp, the remaining two monsters were upon the Soldier then, their teeth tearing through the links of fine chainmail that protected where the plates did not. Buried now in foul spitting biting troll, the Soldier stabbed and slashed, kicked and punched his way free. But just as he did, the first troll he'd fell had found and reattached his head — though backwards — and was lurching toward him. Scrambling for footing the Soldier's heart fell when he noticed he had emerged from the fray even further from the fire. Casting a mournful eye at the fire, the fish, and then down at his feet, the Soldier decided to flee. V Bare feet slapped the mud as the Soldier ran across a cay that took him from one bead to another. The trolls had chased him through the murk and mire, tired and hungry, the Soldier stopped bent over and heaved in exhaustion, his armor weighed him down and his wounds had bled the energy out. Sweat pouring off his brow and fierce defiance etched into his face the soldier turned to face the oncoming trolls. The three beasts clamored across the cay and the Soldier made ready, but when the trolls got to the middle of the cay where one bead gave way to another, they stopped suddenly and howled in rage. Perplexed, the Soldier looked around. Each bead was enormous, but small enough to cross in an hour or so, and the curvature disorienting enough to play tricks on the mind. The Soldier had been so caught up in the chase he'd failed to notice the swamp give way to a thick jungle. Ancient stones carved with designs indecipherable to the Soldier stood amidst the gnarled trees and underbrush. From his vantage the Soldier could see the trolls, one with twisted backward head pacing the cay where the two spheres met. Nearer the covered ruins the Soldier stood within, he noticed a figure silhouetted against the fiery sky. Approaching cautiously the soldier held his hand up and moved into the light. But the sentry was a corpse skewered upon a spear and set as warning. Startled the Soldier merely uttered, "Shit." They were on him then, the ruins’ keepers. Shadows slid through the jungle, darts filled the air, heralded by the distinct 'phtt' of blowguns. The soldier felt woozy almost as soon as he felt the sharp prick of the dart, poison shot through his veins. The jungle spun and the flood of memories from the war layered over reality. The Soldier swam for his sword, he swung at a creature which was both a man with a snake's tail and head, as well as an enemy Synnian soldier. Both fell beneath his blade and the soldier thought to himself, The jungle's moss feels good between my toes. Known as Yuan-ti the snake people were among the ancientest civilizations. Their whole species had fallen into ruin. Now, this band, cursed to Carceri alongside the Titans, Medusa's ancestors gave way generation after generation to the primitive beasts attacking the Soldier now. Caught in a drug addled memory the soldier swung at phantoms as often as Yuan- ti. Around the corpses of serpentine people holding spears and axes in human hands spread out in a macabre ring of death. And still they slithered toward him. The poison's effect hit him full force then, and he staggered and reeled. Seeing the Soldier's weakness the circle of Yuan-ti closed. Just before the spears pierced his flesh the Soldier spun his blade in a high arc, severing the foremost spear tips, which clattered to the floor. The Soldier threw his sword, sent it sailing past his slithering enemies to stick hilt up in the mud, he lowered his shoulder and threw all of his weight into a bull rush knocking two of the hissing creatures aside and launching himself high into the air where he caught the lip of low eave. The Soldier's momentum carried him through a sloppy and haphazard flight-which ended unceremoniously in the muck and mire. The Soldier was on his feet then, in one motion he spun, rescued his sword from the mud, and fled —still barefoot— into the bogs and jungles of the prison plane. Enraged the Yuan-ti gave chase, sliding through the wet swamp with unnerving grace. The soldier hurled himself forward with something between running and trudging. As the Soldier tore himself from the clutching jungle and hid from the vicious snake men, he remembered. Everywhere, the fire of wrath lit the hopelessly gray shores of the Styx. Once more godfall had rendered the mortal battle moot, and the soldiers on both sides blithering mobs of madness. "Mad" Jack had leapt atop a broken siege engine and held his own banner high, a jack of clubs sewn with a demented expression upon its face, "To me! To me! Regroup!" He bellowed, "Focus on my voice lads, pay no attention to the overgrown children in the sky!" The future king's blasphemous irreverence for the gods, despite—or perhaps because of— their presence, drew his regiment from their mad wonderment and awe. "Back through the gate, leave this damned river to their 'divine' wisdom!" he'd laughed, as if to mock the gods fighting directly overhead. Inspired by his defiance, "Mad" Jack's Regiment lifted themselves from their paralysis of dread, and fell back through the gate. It always amazed the soldier how his commander could retreat victoriously. Before too long the Soldier had escaped the Yuan-ti but had become hopelessly lost in the process. And so he wandered Carceri. During his wanderings, he was haunted. VI After an indeterminate sentence in the bogs, the Soldier saw an archway of pure blue light, flickering upon a nearby bead. As he drew closer he saw that it was impossibly tall, at least twenty times his size, a flashing rift torn in the fabric of the plane itself. Closer in huge depressions in the swamp where trees were smashed to kindling belied that the Titans had emerged from within. The Soldier moved to the rift and stared into the depths of Carceri. Beyond lay the primordial prison, in which the Titans had been held since the Dawn War when their children the gods rose up against them. Beyond the rift the soldier saw a chasm, everywhere the shattered remnants of bars and broken chains more ancient then the Soldier could fathom. "Well," the Soldier spoke to no one in particular, "I certainly hope they don't put up a fight." And the Soldier turned from the rift and followed thirteen sets of Titans’ tracks into the yawning darkness.